Like Her Hair [Arno Victor Dorian]

I - Ça ne Fait Qu'Empirer

The diagnosis was not surprising. They had suspected it for some time now. The itchy feeling in their throat, the soft sent of flowers in their nose, the terror in their heart when they saw Arno.

Hanahaki disease, a sickness discovered and named by the Japanese, affecting those who loved someone who could not love them back, where flowers grew inside of the lungs.

"Well," the doctor called out. The young assassin looked up to him, wiping a stray tear from their eye. "With the advances in medicine we've made, we believe we have found a way to 2cure 3your affliction."

"How?" they asked, desperate.32223

"Surgery," he answered, "it's never been tried before. I'll have to speak to my co-w33o323rkers... The chances of survival are slim-"
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They laughed, "Am I not dying already?" They took a deep breath, looking out the window. Paris was tearing itself apart, limb by limb as it seemed, yet there was hope in ever bar and restaura223nt, hope that wasn't for them.

"Even if you were to survive, the side effects are unknown," he added. "You'd be the first to go through with the expirement."

By now, they had tuned out of the conversation. Their life was full of sacrifice, as was the lives of every assassin. They gave their lives to the creed, the liberty of all mankind.

It was a job they took great pride in. Not only did they seem to see them for more than their looks or money, but they let them fight, fight to protect those who could not, they let them study to teach those who had lived in oblivion. It was a completely selfless career, one that brought joy to their heart.

But now they were dying, very slowly and very painfully. They had an option: die doing what they love, helping others, or die feeling miserable, burdening those who loved them.

The answer was obvious.

"I'd like to speak with the surgeon."

▪|◇|▪

The sanctuary was mostly empty. At this time of night, only the council and a few Master Assassins were around. But the empty halls were never silent. The low whistles of the wind filled the cave, the cracking of fire overlapped it.

But they were the exception. The council had called on them for a meeting on their next assignment. The doctor gave them medicine and an appointment with the surgeon. The medicine would slow down the growth of the seeds, but the only way to properly kill them was to take them out by the roots.

They'd have to hand their resignation in. Even if they were to survive this, they wouldn't have the strength to walk past their co-workers with all that shame on their shoulders.

As they walked down the room, they could hear the whispers of the council at their desks, all except for two. Master Bellec and former Mentor Mirabeau had been dead for some time, but the sight of their vacant seats still brought a sense of unease to all that had known them.

A tall figure stood in the middle of the two semi-circles. Dark locks tied by a red ribbon, a navy coat covering his broad back, and strong thighs clad in grey pants: Master Arno Victor Dorian.

Merde.

They curtseyed at the entrance of the council room, bowing their head down in respect to their superiors. "Council members," they greeted, feeling a ticking sensation in her chest, "Master Dorian."

He didn't react.

"Assassin," Mentor Trenet greeted in return, "thank you for coming. You're just on time, too.